


Not Okay ( Apprehension )

by tincturedwords



Series: Requiem of ... [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Canon Era, Emotional Hurt, Episode: s01e06 Bastogne, Gen, Heavy Angst, Medical Trauma, Night Terrors, Nightmares, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tincturedwords/pseuds/tincturedwords
Summary: Words can provide only so much comfort when faced with tragedy and death continually. Roe knows the power of words when spoken by someone trusted, knows that lies can slip through in effort to ease one's pain, but the more told , the easier it is to spot them amongst the rest.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** ¡Spoilers! Blood, Gore, Language, Violence, Dark Themes, War Action, Descriptions of wounds/illness, etc  
>  **Spoilers:** Bastogne ( s01e06 )  
>  **Timeline:** Bastogne ; post Julian's death  
>  **Pairings:** None.  
>  **A/N:** just a scenario that I had in my head that I wanted to write out. previously posted on AO3 in 2014, but I took it down  & revised it. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to Band of Brothers or the book it's based on. Nor do I wish to mock / slander / jest with or disgrace their names & that part of history. Take none of what happens within as fact, unless stated otherwise in end notes.

> "Which is the true nightmare, the horrific dream that you have in your sleep or the reality that awaits you when you awake?" - **Justin Alcala**

* * *

_The sharp crunch of once lightly fallen snow now being compacted underfoot by the worn tread of standard issued boots was the only noise heard about the forest. Imprints leaving no indication of which side they resided from nor the backstory of the wearer, only that the boots were well used and that the size was that of a nine. Strides short, revealing either the small stature of the man or the tension in which he held his posture when stepping about, which wasn't difficult to believe as two nations at war were withheld in these snow laden woods; Germans against Americans. Though, despite that fact, the stride marks held no scuffs to their outline or inconsistencies, meaning the wearer wasn't hesitant in their path._

_Trees dotting various spaces within the ground but with room enough between each to walk easily through. Even to set up a small camp in the spaces surrounding them. Their trunks hardly exceeding that of an arm's wrap around, the branches all thinner than the last as they reached higher up the truck, through snow clung determinedly to every surface that didn't defy the pull of gravity. Causing the weaker branches to bow downwards under their heavy burden. Occasional up sweeps in the wind would dislodge the freezing white powder, sending it cascading down the levels, taking more snow with it. A miniature avalanche that either was a minor annoyance when caught underneath, like many had endured back at the postings or it being a danger when the snow's outer shell had hardened after the smallest exposure to sunlight at the tops of trees, melting it and it freezing over once again to form a hidden layer of ice._

_Though the constant weeks with no lift in the sight-blurring fog and the intervals of new snowfall, the old stuff didn't have the time to heat up nor chance to melt then refreeze. Thus the latter result of the building powder on the tree's branches wasn't a problem, not that they needed anymore than they already had._

_As the posture of the boot wearer came into focus. Back remained ramrod straight, the rigidness that only came when forced to practice such a thing for extended periods of time, his shoulders drooped. As if they were placed under a great strain, one that would surely drown the man if a life preserver wasn't thrown his way soon. Head leant forward with his chin nearly connecting with his jacketed chest, warmed breath pluming out in white puffs of air. Much like that of a cigarette exhale through the minor grey tinge was missing, leaving only the pure innocence of the air being expended as the man walked._

_Hands stuffed to their fullest extent into the chest levelled pockets that lie within the jacket that seemed to swallow the man's lithe frame, completed the look of a outwardly freezing and inwardly decaying young soldier. Their brown-green hued uniform with the signature patches donning the upper arm portions of the coat giving away the side in which they belonged and their profession in their military's side. The white band encircling their left arm embroidered with a brilliant red cross, signaling more so than the tech sergeant stripes or 101st airborne insignia._

_The red colour of the cross patch on his band couldn't compare to the hue of carmine which dotted the snow which eased into his field of vision. His stride now hesitant before was completely paused, head rising centimetre by centimetre to see the exponential growth of the red on white. Increasing in number of splotches and volume per patch, from mere drops to tiny pools before morphing into long streaks. Indicating the bleeding form had been dragged, or it had dragged itself going by the lack of extra footprints and the amount of shuffling marks disturbing the once perfectly laid snow._

_Mouth reflexively dropping as the medic's gaze became level with the carnage brought bare before his eyes. The only way to tell it was still winter was the delicate layer of freshly fallen white creating a morbid dusting burial for the bodies that littered the entire expanse of the small field -calling it a meadow would be too poetic for the gruesome gore donning it's surface- the ground seemingly had turned into a mud pit of blackening blood. The Earth moistened by the sheer volume of it, intermittent pools of it puddled under the corpses or flowed in meniscal streams with the inconstant levels of the land._

_"Spina?..."_

_Came the stunned whisper at recognizing the face of one of the men laying sprawled in their own blood that intermixed with that of the surrounding others', especially with the unidentifiable man laying under Spina's body. It looking as if the other medic had leant over the fallen man to shield him, a instinctual reaction they both shared... had shared. The now lone medic's eyes growing wider at realizing he could identify the next four faces as Compton, Luz, Toye and Muck. All their expression now frozen, the last moments of their deaths captured like those on marble statues. Except these were of horrid pain or unexplainable shock, not the stoic or tempting beauty of the one's in museums._

_His own expression came to mirror the horror as he glanced around himself, not remembering walking this far out into the field since his boots now felt wet as the dark carmine liquid began to seep past the leather and invade the insides of the footwear, his mind immediately placing face with a name with each that his gaze rested on. Nixon, Liebgott, Penkala, Malarkey, Guarnere, Randleman, Winters, it was never ending!_

_All the faces of his battalion, his comrades, his brothers at arms lay long dead around him. Their expression displaying their final moments of torment, their agonized suffering created by their grievous wounds. Most with thick crimson coated their lips to fall down the sides of their cheeks, indicating their internal injuries caused them not only severe pain but had them choking on their own blood as they lay dying._

_The snow distorted and littered with scraps from arms wind-milling in disorganised agony or by hands aimlessly attempting to grasp for purchase, something-- -anything to take their mind off of their suffering. Not a single thing indicated any of them dying quickly or with a scrap of mercy._  
_Eugene choked on his next breath, expression contorting as he swallowed thickly. His thoughts reeling with questions, unable to reveal any answers nor quiet the abject guilt each new one brought with it. 'Why hadn't I heard their calls? Why wasn't I here? '_

_"MEDIC!"_

_The elongated scream of his assigned profession in the company snapped his head up instantly in the direction of the call, his feet already moving before his mind could catch up with the idea of someone actually having survived this massacre and be cognisant enough to call for him. His boots sloshing and nearly slipping several times in his sprint towards the agonized outcry, though the silence afterwards was piercing to his aching heart._

_"Where are you?!" He yelled out, projecting his voice with a lungful of air that left him gasping as he didn't decrease any on his speed, tone surprisingly steady but laced with an underlying desperateness._

_"MEDIC! DOC!"_

_The sound, despite all the distance he'd crossed, seemed just as far away as it had been. He daren't say it seemed to echo back from a further distance, even with his ear barely able to pick up on it's direction because of it's faintness._

_"Yell 'gain! I can't find ya! I don't know where yer at!" The helpless medic screamed now, his steps wavering now as his breath was nearly out and the ground appeared to have become drenched in the thick ooze of blood, the metallic tinge becoming overwhelming to his senses. At last his strength and stride failed him, sending him crashing to the soddened earth and splashing into the dark mess of oddly still warmed blood. Resolve immediate crumbling in his hastened scrambling to gain his footing and get away from it all..._

"DOC!"

The man in question jolted from his dream induced stupor at the alarmingly close shout of his affectionately given nickname courtesy of Easy's key men. His heart was threatening to bust out from his ribs as it rammed against them, eyes reflecting the horrors his mind had conjured up within the nightmare. Deeming the waking ones he constantly encountered not enough in the amount he was apparently supposed to suffer through.

"Doc, you were dreaming. Only dreaming." Came the strangely soft and anxious voice of the secondary medic, Ralph Spina. The other man was crouching in front of his panting and still dazed friend, a hand of his resting against the other's upper forearm in hopes of grounding and providing the physical support needed, if not wanted, for his partner. "You're alright. And so are the men."

That seemed to be both the right and the wrong thing to say. Right because the once distance gaze turned sharp and was immediately trained on Spina, ending the dazed-like trance Roe seemed to be trapped in. And wrong because the expression behind that gaze held unbridled fury breed from a deeply buried uncertainty and ever present worry. The intensity of it nearly had Spina recoiling in shock. It was very rare that Roe expressed anything but calm collectedness or the occasional easy minded smile.

"How can ya be sure of tha'?" The tone matched his expression, as the primary medic snapped at his second while tossing off the army issued blanket and gaining his feet to heft himself out of their foxhole. Quickly snatching his medical bag in a fluid movement that spoke of the amount of practice the man had in that same routine.

Though the abrupt attitude change towards him and the sudden departure, left Spina reeling and staring after his fellow medic worriedly, he remained in the foxhole knowing Roe would want to assure himself of the men's safety by personally checking in on them. Words wouldn't be enough.

Meanwhile, Roe's first stop was to Guarnere's foxhole, him being the closest, and at seeing the man awake. Alert even, as he glanced up in confusion as the medic ducked low to get a good look at his face without pausing in his hurried bent over walk towards the next foxhole after seeing that Guarnere was in fact very much alive. He ignored the small sinister voice that whispered 'for now'.

The next destination being Lieutenant Dike's 'hole, despite everyone's dislike for the incompetent officer, Roe had a duty to everyman in this battalion as a medic and thus had to check on everyman under his watch. Though he had to fully pause by the lieutenant's area as the man wasn't awake in the slightest, very nearly sending the twenty-four year old to an early grave by heart attack, but the obnoxious snore accompanied with the rise and fall of the officer's chest immediately eased his jittery nerves. And would have pulled sardonic smirk from the medic if the circumstances had been different.

However, the lingering anxiety didn't abate enough to stall his quest in checking on every member of the 2nd battalion. His steps crunching the snow roughly in his hastened jog towards one foxhole to the next. Sergeant Lipton being next in line to which the medic nodded in passing at seeing the similar state in which Guarnere had been. Christianson's and Paul's after, where he roused a snoozing Christianson, much to his annoyance, just to ensure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him at 0300. Gordon and Randleman were as well alert, only Gordon removing his eyes from watching the line to give the Doc an odd glance after confirming he wasn't some Kraut sneaking up on them.

It was basically the same reaction from every foxhole he passed or jumped into, confusion as to why he ran past whilst eyeing them by the one's who were awake and obvious irritation at being woken up from the one's who were sleeping. Though Roe wasn't paying any attention to the looks or voiced complaints, he had to know everyone was all right and in as best health they could be given their situation.

A misplaced step along the edge of Toye's foxhole sent the technician fifth grade tumbling into the hole, squarely on top of the other soldiers. The replacement situated with Toye tonight squawked in surprise at the sudden weight of another being dumped onto him and Toye, who cursed profanely.

"Doc? What's your problem?" Toye asked sharply, the attitude coming from his already edgy nature at having to watch his section of the line without having medics dropping from the trees out of nowhere. Except the tone didn't phase the medic in the slightest.

"Let me see your feet." He snapped back, equally sharp, righting himself to stare hard at the other.

Doc's appearance at three in the morning was the only indicator that something was amiss in the medic's attitude, though the strangeness of it hadn't slipped by anyone, they mostly chalked it up to being a 'medic thing'. Just as they had when they noted each medic sitting outside the circles of conversing troops during meal times or the way their head swiveled in the direction of anyone who coughed, brow pinched and gaze scrutinizing, or like now, the periodic foxhole drop ins to check up on everyone.

Toye hesitated, not liking to constantly be reminded that a word spoken about his trench foot to Captain Winters and he'd be moved off the line. Something he definitely wouldn't be happy over, even if it was a short while. Still, out of respect for the other's assigned position and knowing Doc meant well, Toye slipped backwards up and out of the foxhole to sit along it's edge, his feet dangling and now brought up to the Doc's eye level.

"They don't feel any worse." Toye offered up before Doc could question him.

Roe nodded in acknowledgement, his attention mostly on visually examining the molted appendages before him. Move to manipulate the toes, checking movement, had Toye flinching just as before, prompting the questions of, "You been massaging 'em? Alternatin' yer socks?"

"Best that I can." Was the answer.

Roe sighed, nodding again. Knowing that it was nearly impossible to keep one hundred percent dry in this weather and walking around to keep proper circulation could end a life quicker if caught by a mortar blast or a machine gun burst. The best was all he could ask for, whilst he keep an eye on it as well.

"Keep it up." He patted Toye's knee, slipping up out of the foxhole in the same manner Joe did before just as he slid back down.

A sleep ladened, "You already snatched our morphine, Doc." drifted up from Muck and Malarkey's foxhole as he passed. The voice belong to the latter of the two and a smile stretching across Muck's face, despite his eyes still remaining closed, signaled that he too was alright. And thus Roe moved onward, checking everyone's state of being.

"Jesus, Doc." Came the hushed whisper from Heffron when the Cajun dropped into his foxhole, the younger soldier shuffling to the side to accommodate the extra body thrown into the close quarters hole.

Though Roe took the tone in which the words were said and the words themselves as startled annoyance, the same reaction he'd received for the last hour; Heffron had meant them in expressing his surprise. Only difference being it was surprise at how much paler the medic looked, the dim lighting had nothing to do with it, and the slight tremble he could feel shaking the other man's frame. Perhaps it was because Heffron's 'hole was the last Roe had visited thus the cold had seeped completely past the medic's inadequate clothing and the physical activity of running about no longer helped entrap any heat generated, thus accounting for the minor shivering and worsened pallor. That explanation did nothing to ease the red head's worry.

"Here," Heffron untucked the right side of the blanket that encompassed his slight frame and held it open for Roe to slid under, "You're making me cold just watching you."

Eugene shifted closer to Heffron, taking the edge of the standard issued blanket to wrap it around himself the best he could manage with taking more than his share of it. The bodily warmth of being next to another human being, however minimal, onto the fabric sent a sharp shiver down Roe's spine. He hadn't realized how cold he'd gotten while he was outside his foxhole. He felt Heffron shiver in the same manner, but the quietly huffed "Jesus!" confirmed Roe was indeed colder than he thought. The medic's lips twitched in minor amusement at Babe's facial expression, but a smile didn't form.

Instead, he moved to refile through his medical bag and pull out the last three pieces of chocolate he had. Poking his always ungloved hands up past the top lip of the rough blanket, Roe passed two of the pieces over to Heffron, whose attention was rapt the moment he spotted the rare treat. This did make a shadow of a smile come to Eugene's lips, especially at seeing the child-like lust for candy in the younger soldier's eyes when the last time -only two nights before- the offer of chocolate had been meet with hollow reluctance.

The two sat in silence, Heffron nearly finishing the first piece in a mere bite then trying his hardest to savor the last piece of his while Eugene stared at his, mind elsewhere, before hesitantly bringing it to his lips and nibbling at it. The comfortable silence continued between them, the missed sensation of warmth that had been absent when Lieutenant Dike had ordered the medics to separate, had Eugene's eyes slipping shut and his head falling forward. His exhaustion keeping him from realizing it and doing something to keep himself awake or to warn Edward that his extra pair of eyes wouldn't be of any help for a bit. Though Heffron was already aware of it and didn't protest to having the medic as a foxhole partner for the rest of the night. Simply turning his attention back towards the line after ensuring Doc was finally out...

_"MEDIC!"_

_The strangled desperate sounding call split the air, standing out in stark contrast to the artillery burst and mortar explosions. Though muffling the sound of sprinting steps trampling the snow and dead underbrush plants as the medic's boots ate up the distance between his position and that of the call. Agile form winding between trees and ducking behind fallen logs or stumps to avoid getting hit himself before propelling off again._

_"MED..."_

_Sporadic popping of machine gun fire punctuated the air, abruptly ending the second screamed call for him. An audible choked gurgle came in place of the final syllable, though Doc crashed to his knees alongside the downed man just then. Taking note of a badly busted up leg, a mortar blast going by the amount of shrapnel sticking out of the oozing wound. But that was the least severe of the man's injuries currently since a bullet caught him directly through the neck. Blood already bubbling up with each attempt at breathing, to cascade down the sides of his face in crimson streams. Brilliantly bright red signalling arterial blood, the main artery had been hit._

_Nothing nor no one could help the man now. Not out here, not in this God damned place._

_Still, Roe hurriedly tore open a bandages' wrapping and flicked it so it's folds fell apart and he could press the thickly gauze padded part directly against the exit wound -the largest hole and the one which severed the artery- and single handedly tied the end pieces together, tightly enough to utilise the purpose of a pressure bandage but not enough to choke off anymore of the air supply to the dying man._

_"Sh, sh, I got ya now. Sh, Jeep's comin', Jeep's comin." Roe's soft lilting words kept repeating the same mantra, he looked directly at in the man's eyes when saying this to convey that it was truth coming from him and nothing less, a hand coming up to grip the man's chin to keep the other's focus even as the body spasmed several times in a primal attempt to stop itself from shutting down prematurely. The body then stilled, a last gurgle spewing up flecks of carmine liquid from the red coated mouth of the man that couldn't have been much older than twenty._

_Tenderly, like many mothers had done to their children when ill, Roe brushed his fingers through the kid's hair. The thick red strains, already smeared with blood from the pool beneath his head, didn't jar the medic's memory until now. His mind supplying a name to the patient-turned-corpse._

_Heffr... Babe!_

_Hand recoiling in horror, Roe was physically appalled at him not realising who he'd been trying -vainly- to bring back from the point of death. Was he so far gone that the men under his care where now mere objects; things so easily broken that it wasn't worth him placing name to face anymore?_

_Bodily shaking, tremors violently upending any sense of composure; forced or acquired. As Roe fell from his crouched position on his hunches to fall into his ass, freezing cold snow be damned as it's wetness seeped into the fabric of his trousers. Staring mouth agape and haunted gaze tortured beyond return, 'Gene's breath hitched roughly as he tried to shuffle backwards, away from the body, away from the death surrounding everything, away from reality._

"Gene!"

Eugene was jerked awake once again by his army given nickname, except it was Babe to bring him out of the world of night terrors this time. This confused the medic momentarily until the recollections of him being in Heffron's foxhole sharing the last of the chocolate bar with him came back to his mind, even if he didn't remember falling asleep.

Inhaling deeply to reset his breathing rate as he'd awoke gasping unevenly, he glanced over at Heffron. Noting the concerned expression in the young soldier's furrowed brow and stressed frown, the medic averted his gaze then as he further composed himself. Though it was proving more difficult than he thought as the images of his previous dream and the one from moments before came to the forefront of his mind, assaulting his capacity to feel and sanity with the suffocating weight of guilt.

Until he heard Babe's gently spoken yet soothingly confident sounding voice whisper, "It's okay, 'Gene." And felt the warming weight of Babe's arm coming to rest across his shoulders.

Eugene curled himself closer into Babe's side, helmet being shoved towards the back of his head as his forehead came to rest onto the redhead's shoulder. Frame trembling more so, the chilled air having nothing to do with it, and Babe's other arm came to wrap around the tortured medic's front. No sound came from Eugene, no words nor sobs nor cries, simply allowing the usually isolated medic a moment to bask in comfort of a friend.

"It's okay." Babe repeated, tone still gentle yet certain of his word's truth, despite knowing more horror awaited the medic and himself tomorrow, and neither could expect wholeheartedly to survive it, his voice didn't waver.

Simply letting his friend vent his sorrow and hurt in a way that he couldn't for in the longest time, returning the gesture offered to him a few night ago and willing to do so whenever again. Just providing physical, nonjudgmental support. Something Doc always readily gave, yet never received in return. Walls always set, reinforced by the drive to help everyman within their company; easing their fear by remaining stoically calm, relaxing the wounded's pain-induced hysteria with gentle reassurances and supporting touches, passion and determination bleeding into every ounce of his actions proved he'd stop at nothing to reach a wounded man and try his damndest to save them.

"It's okay." He repeated.

And Eugene wanted to believe him.

Desperately so, but the nightmarish images replayed behind his eyelids as he pressed his face closer into Babe's shoulder and the nightmare could very well become reality at any moment. Shuddering at the thought of having to get out of the foxhole to feverently work to save another wounded soldier only to have them die before his eyes, feeling another pulse cease under his blood coated fingertips. He didn't want it, never wanted it. When joining the army, he expected to kill others; he prepared for it. Never had he considered he'd be placed in a permanent position to help the wounded and still watch them die as if he killed them himself.

"It's not okay." Eugene mumbled, voice muffled by the thin rough fabric of Heffron's scarf.

A sense of deja vu washed over Babe from the few nights before when he'd said the exact same thing to Roe and he knew just how little power that word held after all they had seen. Babe couldn't even offer any secondary words of attempted comfort as Roe's words seemed to act as a hail; the high whistles of descending mortar rounds pitched above their heads before ending in a deafening explosion on various locations on the ground. Spraying up dirt and droplets of melted snow like rain, the call of "Medic!" punctuating the conclusion of the first three rounds.

Shoving off of Babe, Roe clamored out of the foxhole, the whispered words of "Not okay." seeming to echo behind as Eugene disappeared. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** little piece to add explanation to why roe jumped awake when he slept in that foxhole with heffron & spina, plus a bit of dream exaggerated foreshadowing about what happens in The Breaking Point. 
> 
> Thinking of features a part 2 of this chapter with babe & roe specifically ; i’ll have to think on it because haven’t developed a good enough plot for a whole chapter yet. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome, but as always never necessary. Thank you for merely taking the time to read this.


End file.
